Ghost Trackers (12 page)

“It’s common for dreams to be made up of unrelated elements,” Drew said. “You’d seen Greg in the bar earlier, so he made a guest appearance in your dream. As for the rest, well, you
do
have a history of nightmares, and it’s not surprising that you’d have one on the night you returned to Ash Creek.”

Trevor had listened intently to Amber’s story, his excitement building the entire time. “In the dream, Greg told you that the massacre had really happened, right?” he asked. “Right here, on the site where the Lowry House would one day be built.”

She nodded.

“I don’t know how much you two remember about the history of the Lowry House,” he said. “I know we researched the house’s background before we did our original investigation, but I don’t recall how much we learned back then. At any rate,
I’ve researched the house’s history in greater detail in the years since, and while there are no official records of British hunters massacring a Native American tribe on this soil, I did find a few brief hints here and there of such an event taking place in the general vicinity. If a tragedy like that
did
occur here, it could explain why this land became, for lack of a better word, tainted. All those powerful negative emotions released in one location—the fear and pain of the villagers, the cruelty of the hunters—left a dark psychic imprint on the area, making it a kind of breeding ground for paranormal phenomena.”

Amber looked at him. “Are you saying that what I experienced really happened? That it wasn’t a dream, that I made some sort of . . . psychic connection to the past?”

“It’s possible,” he said.

Drew sighed, and from the expression on his face, it looked as if he was trying very hard to maintain his patience with the two of them. “Trevor, you said we researched the history of the Lowry House when we were kids. It’s more likely that we learned about the massacre back then, and Amber unconsciously drew on that memory to create her dream.”

He started to argue the point, but instead he shrugged. “That’s possible, too,” he admitted. He gave Drew an irritated look. “You’re a real buzzkill sometimes, pal. You know that?”

Drew smiled. Then, as if to mollify him, he asked, “What else did you dig up about the house’s past?”

“During Prohibition, a bootlegger named Russell Stockslager lived here,” he said. “He was also a serial killer who murdered seven women—seven that the authorities knew of, anyway—and buried them on his property. One of his intended victims managed to escape and went to the police, and he died in a shoot-out with the cops when they came for him. After that, the house remained empty for a while, and then it went through a number of different owners who reported experiencing various paranormal phenomena. Noises at night, objects that moved on their own, whispering voices, ghostly apparitions”—he glanced at Amber—“intense nightmares. Most families moved out after a few months, and the house would remain unoccupied for long stretches of time. Eventually, John Lowry, an electrician, moved his family into the house, and they managed to stick it out for a couple of years, until one night, Lowry picked up his nine-millimeter and killed his wife and two children before turning the gun on himself.”

“I think I remember when that happened,” Amber said. “We were in grade school then, weren’t we?”

Drew nodded. “The Lowry House had a reputation as being haunted long before that, but it
got worse after the murder-suicide. It was one of the reasons we were so excited about investigating it, remember? There were so many stories about kids who snuck into the house, only to flee terrified after only a short time inside. It was almost like the house was daring us to investigate it.”

“I
do
remember,” Trevor said. And he did. Remembered afternoons spent over at Drew’s house, the three of them comparing notes from interviews they’d conducted with kids who’d gone into the Lowry House—or at least claimed to. Afternoons during which they’d discussed how they were going to go inside the house themselves one day.

“Me, too,” Amber said, a tone of wonderment in her voice. “At least, I
think
I remember.”

Drew smiled again. “Looks like coming back home is starting to do us some good, after all. So . . . what next?”

“I’d like to get a few more pictures of the grounds,” Trevor said. “After that . . . well, it’s been a while since any of us have been in Ash Creek. Want to do a little sightseeing, check out how the town’s changed? Might help us shake loose a few more memories. After that, we could have lunch.”

Drew and Amber looked at each other before turning back to him.

“Sounds good,” Drew said.

“Why not?” Amber said.

He grinned. If things kept up like this, maybe he’d get to write that book about the Lowry House, after all. More important, maybe the three of them would finally remember the details about that night. He tried to imagine what it would be like not having a huge question mark hovering over him all the time, what it would be like to really
know
. Part of him was eager to find out, but part of him was afraid that maybe there was a damned good reason the three of them had repressed the memory of what had happened. Maybe they’d be better off never knowing the truth.

The breeze seemed to turn colder, and Trevor crossed his arms and shivered. He told himself it wasn’t an omen, was nothing more than a hint of autumn’s approach, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

Greg Watched the
three friends get into Trevor’s car and drive off. He’d been standing nearby in plain sight the entire time, but none of them had seen him. Oh, their eyes had passed over him often enough, but their brains had failed to register his image. He’d made certain of that.

He’d enjoyed watching them make their first visit back to this place in fifteen years, and it had been a real treat to see Drew and Amber stand in front of the oak tree as they had that afternoon
before they’d entered the Lowry House. Of course, Trevor had posed with them back then, and it had been Greg who’d taken the original photo. When they took the new picture, he’d been tempted to sneak into the camera’s frame and let it capture his image even though the others couldn’t see him. How much fun would it be when they looked at the photo later and saw their old buddy Greg standing there alongside them, grinning? But he’d resisted. He didn’t want to reveal too much, too soon. Still, it had been
so
tempting.

He remembered that afternoon well. Amber, Drew, and Trevor had stopped at the Lowry House after school, and he—after following them at a distance—caught up and, when he saw they were taking photos of the house, offered to take one of the three of them. They hadn’t entered the house then, though. They’d returned later that night, after it got dark. They hadn’t told him of their plans, but he’d guessed what they were up to and snuck into the house after they were already inside. He’d never been a member of their group, even though they’d allowed him to tag along on a few investigations. But he hadn’t taken them as seriously as the others—he was primarily interested in being near Amber—and so the boys hadn’t wanted him along. He’d been angry at them, and he’d planned to enter the house without them knowing and give the three of them a good scare.

Funny how things worked out sometimes.

Things had gotten off to a good start, he thought, but there was a lot more still to do before the main event later that evening. Best he get to it. Busy, busy, busy. Good thing he enjoyed his work.

He whistled a jaunty tune as he headed back to his car.

“I Can’t believe
this place is still here!” Amber said as she lifted another slice of pizza to her mouth. She took a big bite, using her fingers to break through the thick strands of mozzarella that still extended from her mouth to the pizza slice. She laughed as she tucked the broken strands into her mouth. “Pardon my manners!”

As for so many other kids who had grown up in Ash Creek, Flying Pizza had been their hangout when they were young. A hole-in-the-wall pizza joint in a strip mall between a dog groomer and a smoothie café, its plain white walls, simple wooden tables, and permanent odor of burned pizza crusts gave it an endearingly seedy quality. The pizza itself wasn’t noteworthy, but it was inexpensive and filling, and best of all, it was served in a place that grown-ups tended to avoid. What more could a teen want from a hangout joint?

Not that there were any teens here today, she noticed. The lunch crowd at Flying Pizza consisted almost entirely of men and women who’d come
to town for the reunion, all of them there for the same reason as Drew, Trevor, and herself: a short trip down memory lane with oregano and Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top.

They’d ordered the same pizza they’d always gotten when they were kids: half extra cheese, onions, and mushrooms, half pepperoni and Italian sausage. Amber had ordered a Diet Pepsi to drink, while Drew had bottled water. Instead of getting a Dr Pepper as he had when he was a teenager, Trevor had ordered a bottled beer. Not a very good brand, though, given the way he wrinkled his face every time he took a sip.

“Recognize anyone?” Drew asked. From his tone, Amber could tell that he was doing more than making small talk. He wanted to test their memories, maybe check his against theirs. Last night, the thought of purposely testing her memory would have frightened her, but now she was surprised to find that she was looking forward to it, almost as if it were a game. It seemed that being around Drew and Trevor was having a positive effect on her. Especially Drew.

She turned to Drew and gave him a smile. He’d been so kind and understanding last night. She hadn’t gone to his room with any thoughts of romance; she’d simply needed a friend to talk to. But now, sitting here and looking at him, she found herself wishing something
had
happened between them.

Suddenly embarrassed, although there was no way he could know what she was thinking, she looked away from him and glanced around the room. Her gaze came to rest on a tall blond woman sitting with a beefy guy who, even sitting down, looked at least a head shorter than his dining companion.

“That’s Patty Miller in the corner,” Amber said. “She was . . . in the band, wasn’t she? Played flute, I think. I don’t recognize who she’s sitting with, though.”

“She played clarinet,” Drew corrected. “And the man she’s with is Jerry Cottrill.”

As soon as she heard the name, she remembered. “He was a bully who used to corner boys in the restroom and beat them up.”

“That’s him,” Trevor said with undisguised contempt. “Although he didn’t really beat up anyone. Mostly he just intimidated you, gave you a punch in the stomach, or got you down on the floor in a headlock. Stuff like that.”

Amber looked at Drew. “You stopped Jerry from”—she glanced at Trevor—“
intimidating
Greg once, didn’t you?”

His brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were trying to make himself remember. “Yes. Yes, I did. Unfortunately, I didn’t get there in time to stop Jerry from giving Greg a swirly, but at least he didn’t hit him.”

“I remember that, too,” Trevor said. “Greg was
so mad. He kept talking about getting back at Jerry, but of course, he never did anything. Who would?” He paused. “Funny, but Jerry doesn’t look so tough now, does he?”

“Bullies get their power from instilling fear in others,” Drew said. “When you think about it, anyone can hurt anyone else. You don’t need much physical strength, just the will to commit an act of violence. But in the case of bullies, the threat of violence alone is usually enough to get them what they want. He doesn’t seem intimidating to you anymore, because you’ve matured past the point of being afraid of him. It’s as simple as that.”

“I guess that means you’re not afraid of him, either,” Trevor said. “So, why don’t you go on over to his table, say hello, and tell him you don’t hold the past against him?”

Drew looked at Trevor for a moment. “You first,” he said, and Amber laughed.

The three friends continued identifying their classmates for several minutes until the conversation turned back toward the Lowry House, as she knew it would. She was, however, surprised to find herself bringing up the subject this time.

“I think I’m ready to talk about it.” She didn’t have to say what. She knew Drew and Trevor would understand what she meant. And without waiting for either of them to respond, she began.

“It was a Saturday in September. Later than
now, closer to the end of the month. I remember taking the picture in front of the Lowry House that afternoon. I didn’t before, but I do now. You used a disposable camera that had a couple shots left on it. You took them and dropped the camera off at a drugstore on the way home to get the pictures developed.” She thought for a moment. “I remember we didn’t say anything to Greg about our plans for later that night because the two of you didn’t want him tagging along.”

“He always got in the way,” Trevor said. “Do you remember that time we spent the night on the covered bridge out by the county line? The one where the phantom horseman had been reported? I had equipment set up to capture both video and audio, and Greg the genius managed to knock the camera into the river. My dad was furious, and I got grounded for two weeks.”

She smiled. She did remember, although she knew she hadn’t before now. The more time she spent with Drew and Trevor, the more she remembered, and she knew the same thing was happening for them as well.

“Like I said, I understood why you didn’t want him to come along that night. To make sure Greg didn’t find us, we met at Drew’s grandmother’s instead of one of our houses. We figured he wouldn’t think to look for us there. We planned everything out. We went over the research we’d gathered on the Lowry House one last time, and
we designated areas to focus our investigation on based on the information we’d gathered from kids who’d gone into the house before.”

Drew was nodding. “They’d claimed to hear noises coming from upstairs, presumably from the bedrooms where Mr. Lowry shot his family, so that’s where we planned to set up our audio recorders. We had three of them, one for each bedroom.”